


Ganache

by soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Retired James Bond, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this fic will give you diabetes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: His first thought was that James had been caught up in an avalanche. His second thought was that he had caused an explosion in a cocaine factory. His third thought was a solid reminder that they were in London and James was retired, so clearly the white powder covering him must be the result of some sort of baking disaster.The torn paper bag on the kitchen floor confirmed this theory.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 16
Kudos: 111





	Ganache

**Author's Note:**

  * For [christinefromsherwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/gifts).



> For Christine, who needs some sweet, sugary fluff right now.
> 
> Not beta-ed, because it's a surprise.

“James?” 

Q stared at the empty living room. He had texted to say he was leaving work, and it wasn’t like James to nip out without telling him if Q was on his way. It was one of his old-fashioned romantic quirks: ever since he had retired from field work, James was always there to greet Q at the door when he got home. 

But not today. 

He smothered a wave of disappointment. Q wasn’t some 1950s husband who expected his partner to greet him with a kiss and have dinner on the table. Just because James  _ did _ tend to greet him with a kiss, and had been experimenting in the kitchen lately. Who knew that James Bond, one of the deadliest men in the world, would enjoy being a house husband?

There was a muffled thud from the direction of the kitchen.

“Shit!” 

Oh. James  _ was _ home, then. 

“James?” He called out again, finally shucking his coat and shoes. Bert, the slinkier of his two ginger tomcats, weaved around his legs in greeting. 

“I’ll be with you in a minu- NO! Ernie, get off the- FUCK!” there was a resounding crash, followed by more muttered cursing in English, French, and - was that Cantonese?

“I don’t suppose  _ you _ know what’s going on?” He asked Bert, pausing to give him a scratch behind the ears. Bert just blinked at him. “All right then, keep your secrets.” 

“James? What’s the matter?” Q rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped short. “Oh.”

His first thought was that James had been caught up in an avalanche.

His second thought was that he had caused an explosion in a cocaine factory.

His third thought was a solid reminder that they were in  _ London _ and James was  _ retired _ , so clearly the white powder covering him must be the result of some sort of baking disaster. 

The torn paper bag on the kitchen floor confirmed this theory. 

“James,” he began, slowly, “why are you covered in icing sugar?” 

James rubbed a powder-covered hand against the back of his neck, the way he always did when he was embarrassed. 

“It’s all your damned cat’s fault!” 

Q raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It’s Ernie’s fault that you were baking?”

“What? No!” He was pretty sure that James was blushing underneath all the sugar. The tips of his ears were suspiciously pink. “It’s Ernie’s fault the bag ripped. He jumped on the counter and caught it with his claws.” 

They both turned to look at Ernie, sitting primly on the worktop and grooming himself as if all was well with the world.

“And the crash?” 

James groaned, covering his face with his hands. 

“It was meant to be a surprise.” The words were muffled, but Q could make them out plainly. “I wanted to surprise you, but he ruined the ganache.” 

“Ruined the  _ what _ ?” 

Q stared, uncomprehendingly. Then he noticed that there, on the floor, next to the remnants of the icing sugar packet, was a mound of brown goop. 

“Oh,” he said again. 

“It’s four years since our first date. We went to The Ivy and you ordered Black Forest gateau for dessert. I wanted to surprise you,” he said again. 

Q knew he should say something. Knew he should react  _ somehow _ . Crack a joke, or offer to clean up, but he was stuck. His brain had stalled on the realisation that  _ James Bond _ remembered the exact date of that first awkward meal, when they had both been feeling each other out to see whether the flirting had potential or was just a recipe for disaster. That not only did James remember the date and the location, he remembered what Q had ordered. That he probably  _ also _ remembered that Q had dropped a cherry on his white shirt and sworn never to wear a white shirt to a restaurant ever again, embarrassed at making a fool of himself in front of the man he’d been half in love with already. 

“Q?” 

Clearly, he had been silent for too long. He opened his mouth without thinking.

“I didn’t think you were supposed to put icing sugar in chocolate ganache.”

_ Shit. _

James visibly wilted, and Q felt like a first-class idiot who had been too caught up in marvelling at how much this man loved him to engage his brain before speaking.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said hurriedly. “Well, it  _ is _ , because I really don’t think you do put sugar in ganache, but  _ what I meant was _ ,” here, he paused for breath, grabbing hold of James’s hand. “I love you.” 

James huffed out a laugh, and moved to pull away. Q held on for dear life before his husband could get the wrong idea.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I love that you remember what I ate on our first date. I love that you wanted to surprise me. I love that you are still the most romantic sap I’ve ever met, even after four years.”

They both laughed, this time. James looked less embarrassed. That was good, James should never,  _ ever _ be embarrassed because he liked doing nice things. Q made a mental note to do more nice things for James. He clearly deserved them. 

“I love that you tried to bake for me, even if  _ our _ damned cat ruined it.” 

He tugged James towards him, pulling him in for a lingering kiss. He tasted of sugar and chocolate and  _ James _ , and Q wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life kissing this sentimental old romantic. 

“You know,” Q said, because he might as well make this ridiculous situation even more saccharine, “you have icing sugar on your neck. Let me get that for you.” 

He leaned in and licked a wet stripe along James’s neck, before pulling him in for another, more passionate, kiss. Neither of them thought about the ganache for quite a long time, after that. 


End file.
